


I'll just stab myself next time

by Sourwolfy_stilinski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, First Kiss, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 16:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10722579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sourwolfy_stilinski/pseuds/Sourwolfy_stilinski
Summary: Stiles gets stuck in a sticky situationque stupid fucking hunters and one very angered Derek, protecting his idiotsome feels ensue.





	I'll just stab myself next time

**Author's Note:**

> only my second fic so any mistakes i am the rightful owner and deep apologies, feel free to tell me to fix em up  
> enjoy dearies  
> :)

Being injured was one thing.

Near-death experience, been there before.

But actually dying, that was a new one for stiles.

Well he wasn’t actually sure he was dead but he was damn certain.

He remembers being chased by some big fucking terrifying monster which was originally a tiny little pixie that took a sip from an enchanted bottle of water left around of all things.

So there had been a large beast with wings chasing after him and the pack until he got separated from them.

He recalls being covered in goo and other mucky shit while he was running solo because of course it chose to pursue him, the human who happens to have tendencies to fall on nothing and half the stamina of his werewolf acquaintances.

Falling was what he also vaguely recollected because he was so unbelievably clumsy and the supernatural gods didn't want to spare his puny life this time around. Jumping as he rushed forward but he was too slow, getting caught at the neck by a giant pixie looming over him and then there was a tree in front of him, then the floor and then nothing but black.

Once he looked down though he confirmed that it wasn’t just a little graze, it was a fucking arrow stuck halfway in his side. Lucky for him though, the pain was just low level borderline excruciating, more of a win then dying.

Stiles was back at the beginning, confused as to where he currently was. He had a throbbing emanating from everywhere in his body, outside of it too. It all hurt like a bitch.

Basically, he was pretty sure he was dead.

He could feel aches down to his bones. Every cut, scratch, graze and mark made him feel like he had been shot or stabbed, a fire blazing across his whole body, an insatiable itch on his paler than usual skin, likely due to the blood loss. As he was beginning to become more aware of the pain and his memories, dying was becoming more of a possibility than it had been five minutes ago.

His head was deciding to think being conscious was good.

It was not.

Not good, not good, abort, abort.

Obviously, Stiles was going to have to have a talk with his brain about what was good to do in certain situations such as this one, something like sleep was the ideal solution or passing out, that would be perfectly acceptable at this moment in time.

His ears then joined the fun, slowly beginning to recognise sounds, faint howls and whimpers, probably one of the pups lost or hurt. Maybe it was Scott looking for Isaac or Allison, his long-lost heart throbs.

That was almost a guarantee with them, the love triangle-thing club always each other’s first priority.

The other betas, Boyd and Erica normally never leave each other in the first place so it most likely wasn’t them but who knows maybe it could even be Derek, resident Sourwolf. Mr Grumpy Cat usually just gathered them all up at the end of a fight, checked no one was critically hurt and then sent them on their merry way.

Stiles just hoped to god that they found him, he didn’t want to have to drag himself to his jeep and drive home just to end up hurting himself more most likely failing at the wheel and his dad just didn’t need that right now.

Quite gradually, his eyes opened, the mystic night sky a treacherous black above him, worried branches and trees overshadowing his head, the moon at its apex smack bang in the middle. Things all came rushing full force then, slamming like a brick wall into him.

All of pain from that night was overwhelming him, the howling and whimpering from before louder now, almost deafening, the overbearing coppery taste of blood in his mouth and throat, the smells of damp forest floor, pine and leaves, reminding him slightly of Derek’s amazing scent, a small wave of calm wrapping around him for just a moment, thoughts of Derek helping the pain fade.

In his peripheral vision, he spotted clumps of mass moving around, just a large blur to him until one of the lumps broke away, heading towards him with supernatural speed. The other clumps then became more distinguishable, edging closer they formed around him, a sort of protective circle around him.

As he looked up a very familiar face was there, Derek. Stiles went to reach his arm out though his attempts were in vain, his arms had turned into noodles. It seemed wrong though, Derek wasnt reaching for him, checking his injuries, taking the pain away. He was just stood there, staring and grinning manically down at him.

A wisp of smoke fluttered through the air then, morphing around Dereks face and then the others surrounding him, changing their features, turning them into different people completely.

He realised then that they weren't who he thought they were, they were not his pack, his friends.

They were hunters.

They were the crazy bastards who had attacked them earlier that year. A time they had only just scathed death free. Ruthless murderers are what they were, the worst of the worst.

They were the Guerriers.

Brutal, heinous and wicked were the only words applicable to them. They tore packs apart, pools of blood left staining the dens and rotting corpses torched, leaving just the shells of buildings. Notorious for killing even the most innocent of the supernatural world; children included.

They were worse than the Argents put together, the crazy ones of course, not Allison. Their numbers weren’t even that big, around ten of them spread across most of the west coast, some venturing further past that.

Stiles realised then that as always, he was the downfall of the pack, dragging them behind, making them come and rescue him every time, most likely getting them hurt even more or worse.

It had happened before, everyone insisted it wasn’t his fault, that no one could have prevented it when he could've. If he wasn’t such a liability he wouldn’t be so useless, tripping at the wolves heels, wasting their time with his theories and loudmouth.

He wondered everyday why he was kept around knowing how much he was unwanted, it confused him to no end but now wasn't the time to go too deep.

A sudden rush of pain radiated from the arrow wound, one of the hunters was moving it, pushing it deeper, twisting and pulling it back excruciatingly slowly, forcing him to bite back a rising scream.

It would be a sure thing if he made loud enough noises that the pack would come to his distress, ultimately getting themselves hurt and causing stiles to wallow in guilt until his timely demise at the hands of the hunters in front of him, left to watch their writhing bodies, some completely motionless, as the hunters finished him off and the life drained from him.

Another shock of agonizing pain shook his whole body, rattling his very core and causing him this time to scream out, instantly closing his mouth afterwards. Biting his lip so hard he drew blood as tears brimmed at the edge of his eyes, threatening to pour if that arrow moved the slightest. The pack had to have heard that, if they were still in the forest that is. Maybe they thought he was fine, had left all safe and in one piece.

As much as he wanted to be rescued, he just hoped it wasn’t at the expense of another, pack member or not.

Howls and growls arose from between the distanced trees to his left and right, all of them identifiable, a relieved breath escaping from Stiles' clamped lips; they'd found him. He was going to be okay.

Then it got worse.

The sound of a gun being shot was deafening to even his human ears. The worst part was the unbearable pain that seared through his leg, quick and unrelenting. It was when he looked down that he noticed the fresh wound, copious amounts of blood surrounding his upper thigh, thick and a concerning dark colour.

It was then Derek appeared, tearing apart the trees standing in his path, his stare murderous, his form hulking, and his demeanour stating move or I _fucking murder you piece of shits_. Never did Stiles think Derek could terrify him again.

Oh, boy was he wrong.

The way Derek was approaching, looking as if no one should have been near Stiles but him, made him feel as if he was trapped in a corner. He was also so turned on, which, no one should be in this situation but 

Derek striding toward the hunters and slashing their throats as if it were butter, his claws a hot knife did things to him, things his dick was interested in including itself in.

Everything was going too fast and too slow at the same time for Stiles. The blood was splattering motherfucker ever Tomas Guerrier, he tore him limb from limb.  
across the tree bark, floor and when Derek was down to the last man, the head, leader, boss, biggest

Due to Stiles being in such proximity to Tomas the expected blood covered him as his arms and legs were ripped from him, then his head but Derek wasn’t done.

Derek was obviously extremely pissed at them, which is understandable, they’ve killed thousands of innocents, human and not, because he didn’t stop there. He didn’t stop until Tomas was shreds, not even recognisable as a person anymore, more like a deer carcass left after being ravaged by a famished beast.

He looked up then from his position over the body, his gorgeous hair and face smattered will droplets of stray blood, shredded shirt stretched over his heaving chest, searching alpha eyes baring into Stiles’ soul, stirring up a huddle of emotions, arousal pooling in Stiles’ lower stomach.

Derek then reached towards him, shuffling his les to get a more stable strength is his crouched legs as his bulging arms gripped stiles under his legs and back, weary of his injuries, and hoisted him up manhandling him so as to provide the least discomfort as his pain was drained away, tiredness hitting him forcefully, Stiles instantaneously falling into a deep unconsciousness in Derek’s manly arms.

When he awoke, it was to find himself not in his bedroom or bed, but Derek’s. It was large, king maybe queen sized and it was sooooo fluffy and he was sunken into the mattress, deep within the mountains of covers and pillows.

Then he realised there was a tight arm wrapped around his waist holding him close to a large mass of muscle behind him, a wall more like. The wall was also known as Derek.

Stiles was practically naked, black boxer briefs the only item of clothing about him, Derek being in the same style. As he was stirring Derek woke too, less groggily than stiles but still nonetheless tired. Stiles could feel Derek pressing feather light kisses to his back, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.  
Stiles froze.

The affection he was being completely unexpected but greatly welcomed nonetheless. If he was being honest to himself, he loved it, after harbouring his crush (see unrequited love) for years and wanting nothing more than to be closer, have Derek take him home after a fight, draw his pain and spoon the night away.

He’d enjoy butt stuff.

 _Lots_ of butt stuff.

When he rolled over to come face to face with the Sourwolf himself, those hazel, multicolour eyes were heavy lidded, still he managed to look magnificent with morning breath and bed hair.

With these thoughts running through his head Stiles didn’t notice Derek leaning in, placing a gentle, chaste kiss to his lips. Surprised, he didn’t kiss back, the wolf taking it as rejection and moving away swiftly, turning his face down before he went to remove the quilts over him.

Stiles reached out suddenly, locking his hand around Derek’s wrist and with the only strength he could muster smothered himself underneath Derek, smacking him soundly on the lips with his own, desperate for him to understand he wanted this, wanted him, more than anything.

And when Derek kissed back, it was the best feeling in the world to have Derek’s rough hands grab at his hips, most likely squeezing hard enough to leave bruises there. Once they were thoroughly debauched, lips swollen, cheeks flushed and hair sexed up and beard burn covering Stiles' cheeks they pulled away.

“If I would’ve known this would be your reaction to me nearly dying I would’ve stabbed myself sooner.” Stiles giggled, throwing his head back with happiness, earning himself an exasperated eyeroll and sigh from the man in front of him.

“God, I can only just handle you normally.”

“Don’t act so put out, I’m a real catch, jackpot even. I know your wolfy wants me.” Stiles said, wrapping his hands languidly around Derek’s neck again.

“You’re lucky he does or else you’d be stuck with little old me.” Derek leant in again, slowly kissing Stiles.

“Not so little from what my hip tells me and anyway, I think I may like you better. Just” Stiles stated after pulling away, a small string of saliva connecting them together.

“Just. Good to know."

**Author's Note:**

> Im taking prompts on tumblr now so hit me up  
> lonely-sour-wolves


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